Till Life Do Us Part
by Ramzes
Summary: Love her? Of course he loves her! But love is not enough. Not always. Marriage should be sustained by many other things. And Sirius Black does not seem to realize that. AU. A prequel to The Final Choice.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

_**Thank you, saiyanwizardgurl, for this edited version of the first chapter.**_

Chapter 1

"Merlin, Muggles do know what real art means," Sirius whispered in his wife's ear.

Angela only smiled. She had always loved theatre and shortly after their marriage, Sirius had become quite fond of it, too. They were both glad that they had come here this evening. On stage was the production _Hamlet,_ and Angela had always admired Shakespeare's plays. Merlin knew that they both needed a little entertainment in the middle of this war.

She threw a secret look at her Muggle watch. The babysitter had promised that she would stay until morning and Angela had full trust in Dorcas Meadows' ability to defend herself and Cane against any intruders. Not that it was likely to happen, not with all those wards on the flat, but Angela still could not get rid of the slight concern at leaving Cane alone with her friend.

Sirius smiled at her and she returned the smile, determined to conceal her worry from him. It was the first time they were alone together, enjoying each other's company, in months. _Maybe,_ the young woman thought, _he's beginning to get rid of his obsession with James and Lily and is starting to pay attention to us – Cane and me._ She smiled again and gave his hand a squeeze.

After the play was over, Sirius took her to a Muggle restaurant where she immediately started talking excitedly about Shakespeare, Ophelia, and Keats. Sirius listened to her chatter and wondered why he had forgotten how much he enjoyed her enthusiasm about books and theatre. Too preoccupied with the Order and keeping James, Lily, and Harry safe, he had been neglecting her for months. _Well, this evening will be a great start to rebuilding our relationship, _he thought. He was happy that he had had this wonderful idea of taking Angela out, happy with her very presence, happy with her dark beauty. When they entered the restaurant and half of the men presents turned their heads after her, Sirius felt a surge of idiotic pride that one feels when he has something beautiful and outstanding.

"Next time, I'm taking you to a fun-fair," he announced, when they were eating their dessert.

Her eyes lit up and she laughed. "So, there's going to be a next time?" she asked.

Sirius nodded energetically. "It's going to be either a fun-fair or a rock-concert," he said.

"I hate rock," Angela reminded him, and he grinned in response.

"I know, but you love me, so you're going to come anyway, right?"

She pretended to contemplate the matter. "Well, it's either that or fighting Death Eaters," she finally said, "so I suppose – we could come here again, couldn't we?"

Sirius stared at her. "Death Eaters?" he asked. "What Death Eaters? I don't know any such fellows. And besides, we aren't here."

It was impossible not to smile. "Where are we?" Angela asked.

"On the moon," he answered seriously. "Or maybe on a waste island. Just you and me, and the palms, and the sea – "

"And your constant hunger, and muddy dog fur," she interrupted him, and he put a pathetically affronted expression on his face.

"I am not muddy!" he said, and she patted his head just like she would have done if he had been in his dog form. They exchanged the umpteenth smile for that evening, and then Sirius blocked Angela's attempt to steal his dessert. "It's mine!"

They were both attractive, young, and, for this evening, in good spirits, so they won all hearts in the restaurant and one of the patrons really came to their table and said, "Good evening, madame."

They both jumped and reached for their wands but calmed down almost immediately when they saw the person who had talked to them: a young man their age, silver-haired and blue-eyed, whose incredible handsomeness was spoiled only by the deep red mark on his cheek. Angela smiled in welcome. "Hello," she said, "let me introduce you. Alain, this is my husband, Sirius Black. Sirius, this is Alain Montresorre. He works with me for the Order."

"Nice to meet you," Sirius said politely, though he disliked the Frenchman from the first moment. _A man should look like a man and not a fashion-monger, after all!_ Angela, on the other side, felt slightly amused, knowing exactly what her husband thought. She had to admit that Alain's bright yellow robe and bowler-hat with golden plating were quite memorable. She knew that this look of a fool was very useful when gathering and passing information – people could not feel like keeping their eyes open with a man who obviously lacked the brains to dress in a proper manner. Angela could only assume that he'd been on a mission. She felt forced to invite him to take place on the table and told herself that she was being stupid. There was no reason to keep the two men away from each other. Alain had been her boyfriend when she had spent her fifth year at Beauxbatons on exchange program and nothing more. Everything between them had ended with her return to Hogwarts. If sometimes Alain looked at her with a strange, longing look, when they talked about Voldemort's plans, it was no concern of hers; if he was always ready to do her a favor without questioning her, it still meant nothing. There was no reason to feel uncomfortable.

Or so she thought. Unfortunately, Alain had other plans. He started showering her with pretentious compliments, laughing shrilly, talking about fashion and so on. Sirius looked irritated and obviously couldn't wait to get rid of the intruder. With growing anger, Angela realized that Alain had felt Sirius' resentment to him and that it greatly amused him. He had thrown himself vigorously into his role of a complete fool. She had often seen him doing that back in Beauxbatons, just for good measure, and was enraged that he was doing it now. What was he trying to do? Spoil her evening with her husband? If that was the case, he was doing a great job.

Suddenly, outside the restaurant, next to their window, a huge yellow light blazed up. All three of them jumped from their seats and along with other patrons, hurried outside to see what was going on. The first warning cries grew into resounding roar when a curtain of fire almost reached the dark sky. The tube station was in flames. "It's a fire!" Angela cried.

"No! No, look at this!" Alain was pointing at something above their heads, reaching for his wand. Sirius looked at him, surprised at the deep voice that came out of the Frenchman's mouth, instead of his earlier shrilly speech. He recognized the mark immediately.

"Death Eaters!" he cried, pulling his wand out.

"We have to split up and search for them," Angela suggested, wand in hand.

"No!" Alain objected. "We have to stay together; if there are any Death Eaters here, there will be many of them and they'll get the better of us easily if we are apart. Together, we have a better chance and besides, I don't think there are any of them left. They did what they wanted," he added bitterly as the fire spread around with amazing speed.

He turned out to be right: there were no Death Eaters around. After helping the firemen get the fire under control the best they could, the two men led Angela through the crowd, searching for a safe place from where they could Disapparate without attracting any attention. From each side, they were jostled by men, women, and children of all ages and sizes, panicked, horrified. Next morning, there would be some poor explanation about defects and failures in the tube that had caused the tragedy with so many injured and dead people. The ambulances were already carrying the corpses out of the station. None of the three people who really knew what had happened said a word, for there was nothing to be said. Voldemort had to be stopped, before those 'accidents' became daily occurrences….

"I hate them!" Angela suddenly exclaimed; the two men looked at her, silently agreeing.

"In France," Alain slowly started, "this sort of thing is usually followed by a massive attack on wizards. You'd better be careful – "

Sirius stopped and looked at him with narrowed eyes. "You may have a point there," he said at once. "Come on, hurry up."

"We are doing our best, Sirius," Angela said. "We are trying. After a couple of minutes it will be safe to Apparate – as soon as we reach the alley – "

"Try harder!" Sirius told her sharply. "A couple of minutes is a long time. I have to be sure that nothing has happened to James and Lily! If your friend is right, an attack in their refuge is a real possibility."

_James and Lily!_ Angela barely kept herself from shouting their names in anger. Sirius' devotion to their friends had started to give her the blues. If someone was in danger, it was Cane, alone in their flat with Dorcas and not James and Lily, whose hiding place was still a secret to the Death Eaters.

"Well, I'm trying," she said in response to Sirius' prompting.

In his eagerness to smooth the way for Angela, Sirius went forward. Suddenly, the crowd started moving to pave the road for the ambulances, and Sirius disappeared from her sight.

Alain was trying in vain to break the ring of human bodies that was squeezing them. Despite his efforts, the crowd dragged along both of them. Angela squeezed his hand for support, but also because she was afraid that they would lose each other in the crowd. It was impossible to pull their wands out; all they could do was try to stay together and move toward a less crowded place without being crushed by the people. Alain squeezed Angela's hand more firmly. "Don't be afraid," he said. "Stay calm. I will protect you."

"I am not afraid," Angela answered and he laughed.

"If I were you, I would have been afraid. In fact, both of us should be terrified in the current situation – smashed here and unable to use our wands." He threw an arm around her shoulders to keep her close. His laughter died when she suddenly said, "Oh, Merlin, Sirius probably thinks that I am in danger."

"Your husband's concern did not keep him here for long," Alain said emphatically five minutes later when they reached the first place where they could Disapparate. "It seems to me that your Sirius has gone home without you."

Angela knew that if Sirius really had gone home, he would have waited for her. _He hasn't gone home to Cane, he's gone to check on James and Lily!_

Alain saw the growing anger in her eyes and said more softly, "After all, he couldn't have known when we'd be able to come here, Angela."

"That's no excuse!" she cried. Her pain and anger prevented her from hiding her feelings. "How can Sirius be so – so indifferent – so rude!"

"He probably thought he would find you safe at home," Alain said, trying to find any sort of excuse for Sirius' behavior, just to calm her down.

"Oh, stop it!" Angela interrupted him. "Sirius knows perfectly well that the crowd may separate us, you and me, just like it separated us from him. To cap it all, he thinks that you are nothing more than an empty-headed toff, he's sure of that."

"So he thinks you're in no moral danger, while you're with me," Alain said. "Although I must say, he looked manful enough to protect you on his own."

Angela looked in his deep blue eyes and her chin trembled. "Did he, really? Then, I'll make him sorry for that conviction," she said firmly. Before Alain knew what she meant, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him passionately on the lips.

If her kiss hadn't been so long and burning, Alain would have it in him to resist it. But without her knowing it – or maybe without her caring about that – he had fallen in love with her for the last months when they've been working together and spending hours in each other's company on a daily basis. He could say that she was not a happy woman – not happy in her marriage, at least, even though she never discussed it with him. It was easy to guess – she was always alone. She came alone to their meetings, she left alone – not once had her husband come to collect her. Alain had met her in the street a few times and she was alone there, too – or with her son. He knew that she did not feel about him the way he felt about her. For her, everything between them had ended when she had left France all those years ago. She had met Sirius Black. But that did not change his love for her. Merlin, it was so stupid – after six years, to fall in love with his school crush. He could have any other woman. He was young, attractive, rich – every woman would be happy to have him.

_Every woman. Except for her_. And she was the only one he wanted.

Each passer-by could recognize them under the street lights, because next to them, wizards and witches had started to Apparate to see the Dark Mark with their own eyes and help with whatever they could. Alain wrapped his arms around Angela's waist and returned the kiss. Angela tried to listen to her conscience but all she could hear was Sirius talking about James and Lily, and Harry, and James, and Lily, and Harry, and nothing else; accusing her of being close with the traitor who endangered them – their friend Remus; neglecting Cane, being short on him, leaving her alone to deal with her Order work, the flat, the kid, her own job, leaving her alone in the crowd this evening not because he feared for their son, but because he was worried about James and Lily. Her memories of the time before Sirius were coming to her with violent, wild persistence. Alain covered her face with kisses, pressing her harder and harder against himself.

"You're my, my wife!" he whispered. "I love you, Angela. You are meant for me."

He pulled back, only to look deep in her eyes. Only then, she was able to stop him, as well as herself. "No, Alain, no!" she said. "I'm not your wife and I never will be. I am Sirius' wife! I'll never be yours again!"

She Apparated away without any other word. Alain only smiled. "We'll see," he said, touching his lips. "If your Sirius keeps behaving like this, you'll come to me again. And again. And one day you will stay with me. Merlin help me, I know it."

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**A.N. Read? Yes. Reviewed? Please! **

**P.P. Only one review so far! Is this story really this awful?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and my OCs!**

_Thank you, azorianxxx and SOR 4, for leaving reviews for the first chapter!_

**Thank you, saiyanwizardgurl, for this improved version of my chapter.**

Chapter 2

_Two weeks later…_

Lily's laughter was the last thing Sirius heard before Apparating away. Harry had just formed his first full sentence, and being James' son, it was, "The Snitch, Mummy, Harry wants the Snitch!" Of course! He could hardly wait to tell Angela about this. He walked the two cross-streets that led to his flat, climbed up the stairs and removed the wards.

One look at his wife's face was enough to tell him that the news would have to wait.

"Where were you, Sirius? You were supposed to come back two hours ago!"

Sirius did not want a quarrel, so he tried to look remorseful. "I'm sorry. I lost track of time."

"I had to cancel a meeting with an editor," Angela went on. "I couldn't take a four-year old on a business meeting that would last more than two hours."

"You never told me that you had a meeting."

"I made the appointment this afternoon because you said you would be back by five o'clock."

"How could I have known?" Sirius objected.

"Don't speak so loud! Cane is sleeping."

"So early?" Sirius asked, surprised. "It's barely seven!"

"I took him to the park and he ran and played so much that he's really knackered."

Sirius frowned. "I've already told you, I don't want the two of you to go to places like that alone. It's full of Muggles – what if some of the Death Eaters attack you? There won't be anyone who could help you."

Angela took a deep breath and tried to control the new wave of anger that filled her entire body. "And what do you suggest for me to do, Sirius? Do you think that it is possible for me to raise a lively four-year old within these walls? Do you think that I should keep our son a prisoner in his own home because of your fears?"

"I don't want you to take him to the park without me," Sirius repeated, and this time she did not bother to hide her anger.

"Yes, my Lord. As you wish, my Lord. Only, I am afraid that I don't know how to obey to your will, my Lord, if you aren't here to voice it. I am sorry to inform you that Foreseeing is not one of my talents."

Sirius suppressed the urge to slap her – so fake was her saccharine voice.

"Look, I am sorry for being late. I told you that I am. It's just, it's really dangerous, Angela. I don't want anything to happen to you or Cane."

"Then what do you suggest, Sirius? To keep him confined in here? I've been doing this for _months_. He will get sick if he can't go out regularly, you have to realize that once and for all."

"I know," Sirius sighed. The truth was that he'd been neglecting Angela and Cane for too long. His free time was not enough for everyone, that was it, and he had to make sure that James, Lily, and Harry were safe enough. Unfortunately, that meant that Angela was left alone to deal with Cane. True, she was a very capable woman, but still, he needed to do something to help her. To be with them. "Look, I have a free morning tomorrow," he said. "We can take Cane to a children's theatre and have lunch outside before I go to the Ministry."

She looked down at the parchment on the table and slowly shook her head. "There is no need for that, Sirius."

"Angela, I want to."

"Do you, really?"

He decided to ignore the doubt in her voice and sat on the sofa next to her. "Is that the material that you had to give to your editor?" he asked, pointing at the parchment.

"No, it's the file of the charm that I'm trying to develop with Flitwick."

"Ah, yes, your Revealing Charm," Sirius said. "I had almost forgotten all about it. You haven't mentioned anything about it lately."

"Because you haven't asked," Angela answered mentally.

For a brief, incredible moment, Sirius looked at her with interest. "How is it going?"

"Fine."

Realizing that he was not going to get anywhere with her, he stood up. "I'll go to Cane's room."

"He's sleeping."

"Never mind."

But Cane was not sleeping. At some point, he had awoken and sat up in his bed. Sirius smiled, happy that he had found him awake. "Hello, puppy," he whispered, and Cane looked at him and smiled.

"Hello, Daddy."

"What are you doing here?" Sirius asked. "Looking through pictures, ah?"

Cane threw a nervous look at the door. "Don't tell Mummy that I'm awake," he whispered. "She'll be angry."

Sirius grinned at him. "I won't, I promise. Now, tell me, are you looking through pictures?"

Cane shook his head. "I'm reading," he answered, and Sirius laughed and came nearer, and then his laughter stopped. The children's book had no pictures in it. Cane was following the lines with his chubby finger, smeary with chocolate. Sirius took a mental note to make a Vanishing Spell to the crumbles of the biscuit that Cane had secretly brought to his room, before Angela saw them.

"You can read?" Sirius asked disbelievingly, and Cane nodded proudly and read the next paragraph with a little stammering, but read it aloud nonetheless. _He's learned how to read and I didn't even know._ "Since when can you read, Cane?"

"Mummy and Remus taught me," Cane beamed at him.

_Remus! So, she keeps taking the child to the traitorous bastard, Sirius_ thought angrily. _What nerve he has, betraying us all and at the same time trying to play father to my son. How dare he!_ Of course, if Sirius had spent a little much more time with his family, then maybe he would have been the one to teach Cane how to read…. He banished that thought immediately, pulled Cane close, and held him tight. _One day, when all this is over and they are safe, I'll make it up to you,_ he thought. _I'll hold you, I'll play with you, I'll sniff you until you beg for mercy…._

"Daddy! It hurts!" But Cane was laughing, and Sirius laughed, too.

His laughter died as soon as he came back to the living room. Angela looked furious – pale, with crossed arms and tightened lips.

Sirius did not need to wonder what happened, because he was informed immediately. "I've just had an interesting Firecall," his wife said. "With James. He wanted to make sure that you've come back without problems."

Sirius froze, inwardly cursing his friend's concern. "You've been with them ever since you left work," Angela stated. It was not a question. "Bloody hell, Sirius, answer me!"

He did not say anything.

Angela started pacing the room. "This is too much," she hissed. "You told me you would be home by five! I make a business appointment because I am suffering from the delusion that you'd keep your word for once, and what do you do? Go to James and Lily's, of course. Cheer them up while I have to neglect my job _again_ because I can't find a babysitter for today. Then you come here and have the cheek to tell me that I shouldn't take Cane outside on my own, when the truth is that you are more interested in spending your time with James and Lily instead of us. And to top it all off, you come here and _lie_ to me! You weren't going to tell me where you've been, were you, Sirius? You would have gladly continued to lead me into thinking that you've had work to do. Am I right? Or am I right?"

"I'm sorry. Look, I'll make it up to you tomorrow morning – "

"You'll do no such thing," she interrupted him and firmly refused to give up to the sudden exhaustion that threatened to overcome her. "James told me what your plans for tomorrow morning were – to visit them and play chess with him. There is no need for you to change them."

"I've already changed them."

"Well, it's too late!" she snapped. "Far be it from me to be the burden that separates you from your obligations and desires. You can go there and be with them. I will continue to be what I've been feeling like for months – a single mother."

She left the living room. Sirius decided to give her time to calm down, but when he lied down next to her in bed, she turned her back on him.

The next morning, Angela woke up alone. Sirius was nowhere in the flat, and she realized that he must have taken her to her word and went to James' place. Maybe he just wanted to get even with her for last night when she had refused to have sex with him. Who knew? Who cared? She was too tired to even feel angry. She barely had the energy to make breakfast. Cane obviously felt that something was wrong because he was unusually quiet and obedient.

In the afternoon, she felt better and decided to hold her meeting with Alain Montresorre earlier, so she took Cane and Apparated them both to his flat where her son started playing happily with the toys she had brought with them while she and Alain were analyzing the latest bits of information that they had obtained.

Angela immediately felt his eyes on her and knew that he had noticed her pallor. She wondered briefly whether he suspected anything about her family problems. He probably did. Alain was a clever man. She stood up as soon as they had finished their discussion.

"We have to leave now," she said, and then Alain made a move to take her hand.

"Are you feeling all right, Angela?" he asked, and she smiled.

"Of course I am."

"All right." But he did not believe her for a moment. She was in a bad state and it probably had something to do with her husband, even if it was only the fact that he let her go out when she was ill. _He doesn't deserve her,_ he thought. _If everything was fine between them, she would have no reason to avoid me as she has done during those two weeks after I kissed her._ The simple truth was that Angela's husband was not good enough for her; that was it.

"Do you want to go for a walk with me?" he asked both her and Cane. "There is a park nearby and we can get some ice cream."

"Yes!" Cane yelled excited. "We can go, Mummy, can't we? Say that we can!"

_We can't,_ Angela thought, panicking. _I can't go for a walk with a man who's in love with me._

Still, Alain was a nice man and he did not care about James and Lily – he cared about her. He thought she was an attractive woman. A beautiful woman. A woman who deserved to be placed first. And her son craved attention that he did not receive from his father – only from her and Remus.

"Yes," she said, "we can go. In fact, Alain, we'd like to."

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**A. N. So? What do you think this far?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

_Thank you, __**azorianxxx**__**SOR 4**__ and __**MadeAnge**__ for leaving me reviews._

Thank you, saiyanwizardgurl, or betaing this for me.

Chapter 3

**A month later…**

"Who's there?"

If Angela's voice had sounded too harsh, well, no one could really blame her. Unexpected visitors had become quite uncommon these days and usually meant only one thing – trouble.

"It's me, Angela. It's Sylvie."

Angela had recognized the voice by herself, but did not open the door and made no movement to lower her wand. "What did Remus do the first time we met you?"

Such questions had become something common for wizards and witches – everyone had to be careful about whether they were facing their friends or some Death Eaters in disguise.

"He took my certificate of marriage and tried to detect the spell that he thought I had placed on it because he did not believe that his brother had actually married me," came the reply, and Angela grinned broadly while she was opening the door.

"Sylvie!" she squealed and hugged her old friend tightly, careful not to smash the little bundle in her arms. "What are you doing here? I haven't seen you in ages! Is this Anath?" she asked, looking curiously at the baby who had slept through the whole welcome embrace. "She's gorgeous. Oh, look at that red fluff! You're going to have another red-haired lady in the family."

"Yes," Sylvie smiled proudly. "Can we come in? I'm really tired. She kept me awake the whole night and I've been at the Ministry for hours today."

"Oh, yes, of course."

They entered the living room, where Cane was playing with his cars.

"Come on, Cane, come and say hello to Sylvie. You remember her?"

Cane shook his head and Sylvie laughed, sitting on the sofa and stretching with relief. "It's been a year since I last saw you, Angela. I'd have been surprised if he remembered me. Tell me, Cane, do you want to be an Auror, like your Daddy, when you grow up?"

Again, Cane shook his head. "No. I'll be a TV tower when I grow up. Because they're the highest."

Angela laughed. "That's his newest idea about his future," she explained. "He's been at it for more than a week."

"I see," Sylvie nodded. "Well, it's a big ambition, really. I've brought you something, Cane."

Curious, he went to her and looked at her with anticipation. Smiling, Sylvie pretended that she had forgotten the present, and when Cane was already bouncing with nervousness, she "found" it.

"A flying car!" Cane squealed with delight and started chasing after his newest treasure.

"Cane," his mother said in a warning voice, and he seemed to remember what he was supposed to do now. "Thank you, Sylvie!" he yelled over his shoulder, and his mother winced and looked at the newborn, but Anath Lupin was still demonstrating her ability to sleep under whatever circumstances dawned on her.

"What are you doing here?" Angela asked. "I thought you were still in France."

"I was," Sylvie sighed. "Unfortunately, the big bosses decided that I was the best one to be detached here when your Ministry asked ours for more Aurors. They remembered that I was trained here by Moody himself, that I have worked here for years, and that I have friends among your Aurors. That's all they needed. So now Raymond is working day and night in St. Lazarre's, since the last attack left us without one third of the staff there. Raymond is working there about fifteen hours a day, I am staying here at Remus' place – I arrived only yesterday – and the children are with my parents in Provence. Driving them mad, I suppose."

The two young women looked at each other and burst out laughing at the absurdity of the whole situation. Without waking up, Anath clapped her tiny hands excitedly, making them laugh harder.

"Tell me, Sylvie, is it true?" Angela finally asked. "Did you really give birth to her in Poland and the same day you went off fighting Death Eaters?"

"No," Sylvie answered, "it's not true. Not – exactly true." Then, she laughed again. "You know, I've been telling the baby this as her bedtime story. Something like what happened the day that I was born." She narrowed her eyes and began in a honeyed voice, as if she were telling a story to a very young child, "And then Mummy said, 'But I can't travel now. I am pregnant.' And then the pompous old king said, 'But we need your help, my Lady. You'll be traveling there by air carriage and it will be arranged in a way that would let your husband accompany you. We are not sending you to fight the villains, we just want you to establish contact with their Captain of the King's Guards and exchange our methods for theirs. All in peace.' Mummy realized that she had no choice in the matter, so she said yes. And so, Mummy and Daddy went to Poland, and everything was fine until the sixth day of their stay. The King's court was informed about an upcoming attack of Muggles in less than three days. They needed every man and woman they could find, who could successfully fight the bad people. Mummy and Daddy did not want to endanger the baby, though, so the childbirth was induced a week earlier than it should have been, and baby Anath was born. When Anath was two days old, Mummy and Daddy had to leave her in the King's court and go to find the evil-doers. Mummy and Daddy won, but one of the bad men without faces hurt Mummy, so she became a little ill and could not nurse baby Anath for a while. Since they had to leave early the next day and there was no time to find another woman who could breastfeed Anath, or find adapted milk for her, the king gave them a suckling she-ass and they left in their air carriage – Mummy, Daddy, Anath and the she-ass."

"And then the she-ass probably started braying and did not stop until they reached firm ground," Angela finished and grinned. "Is it really how it was?"

"Oh, yes!" Sylvie nodded, and grinned sheepishly. "Exactly. The stupid animal did not leave us alone."

Angela looked at Anath and smiled: the baby was smiling in her sleep; maybe she recognized her bedtime story.

"But you are well now, aren't you?"

"Yes." Sylvie gave her a long look. "But you aren't, are you? You look like hell, Angela."

Angela shrugged. "It's a war," she said, and then stood up. "Cane! Time for bed!"

"No, Mummy!" he said. "I want to play with the new car!"

"Later."

"But I want to play now!"

"I'm sorry, but you'll have to leave it for later."

"I don't want – "

Cane was very much like Arion. Sylvie smiled, put her feet high and closed her eyes, waiting for Angela to take her reluctant son to the nursery.

"Well, I finally managed."

Sylvie opened her eyes and looked at Angela, who was busy arranging the flowers in a vase next to the window. The young Frenchwoman held her breath. Her friend looked even worse under the bright sunlight than Sylvie had thought at first, tired and wrecked. Her long curly hair was hanging limply over her back, there were huge purple bags under her eyes, and she looked thinner than Sylvie had ever seen her.

"Do you want coffee?" she asked.

"No, thank you," Sylvie said. "Well, as a matter of fact I do want coffee, but it goes into my milk, so – " She shrugged. "Come here and sit down."

Angela did so. The other woman looked at her closely. "Do you know what?" she asked.

"What?"

"If you want to keep your Sirius alive, don't let Raymond see you. He has enough anger against him as it is now because of Remus, and if he sees you like this – " She paused. "Let's just say that I don't want my husband going into prison for killing someone the Muggle way."

"So, Remus told you?" Angela asked.

"Yes, he did. We've seen him a lot lately. He doesn't talk much about it, but it's clear for someone who has some idea about the whole situation and who knows Remus as well as we do." She looked at Angela closely. "Do they really think that he is the traitor?"

Angela nodded. "They do."

"Merlin!" Sylvie sighed. "No wonder he's sad and depressed all the time. The only people who didn't care about his condition, and now this!"

Anath must have felt her mother's tension because she opened her eyes and stirred. Sylvie soon lulled her to sleep and gave Angela another glance. "What's wrong with you?" she asked. "Are you ill?"

Angela shook her head.

"What is it, then? Are you still worried about Cane after the kidnapping? Are there any problems?"

"No, he's gotten over it."

"Problems with Sirius?" Sylvie asked again. "Where is he, by the way?"

"He's with the people he really cares about," Angela stated bitterly.

Sylvie and Angela had been neighbors since the time Sylvie had married Raymond Lupin and had come to live at his parents' place. Angela was best friends with Remus and that meant she spent a lot of time in the Lupins' house, which meant she saw Sylvie almost every day. They had formed a friendship despite the gap in their age, and that friendship had become even stronger after Angela's parents had thrown her out because of her pregnancy. Sylvie had always been ready to help her in every possible way; she had even babysat Cane a couple of times. She had not missed a single one of Angela's birthdays and always gave her cards and presents.

Sylvie was the only one who knew how deep Angela's feeling of insecurity ran – insecurity born of the fact that she had gotten pregnant before the wedding. No one else even suspected that the fact that Sirius had felt forced to marry her still troubled her so much. It was not that she doubted his love for her, because she did not doubt it, it was just that she could never be sure that he would have married her without the baby. During their years together, Sirius had erased to great extent this awful feeling of uncertainty, but it never really disappeared, and now, when he neglected Cane and her, it seemed to be overwhelming. While Sylvie was listening to Angela's story about what had happened the last months, she felt like slapping Sirius Black if he came. But of course, he was too busy to make an appearance in his own home – he preferred James Potter's place. _That idiotic boy,_ Sylvie thought, _he's going to lose his family even before he knows what's happening, and I can't say he doesn't deserve it._

"What are you going to do about it?" Sylvie asked. "You can't go on like this; it will be the death of you."

"I know," Angela sighed, "but I'm not sure how I should act. One thing is for sure – I will not have this kind of attitude any longer. I won't raise my kid between these walls just because his father is too busy for us, and I won't feel like second best. It's not like Sirius is my only option after all!"

"Angela!" Sylvie gasped, and Angela slapped her hand over her mouth. "Is there someone else?"

Angela looked like she wished she had kept her last words to herself, but then she shrugged. She knew she could trust Sylvie. "I am not sure. Maybe."

"Who is he? Do I know him?"

"I don't know. His name is Alain Montresorre."

"He is a Frenchman?" Angela nodded. "I think I've heard of his family. Tell me, what's going on between the two of you?"

"I kissed him, that's what."

"You _kissed_ him?"

"Oh, yes, and I've felt guilty ever since."

Sylvie listened in silence until Angela finished with the story. When the younger woman finally stopped talking, she took her by the hand and said in a firm voice, "Now, listen to me, girl, there is no reason for you to feel guilty. From what I heard, Sirius pretty much deserved it. Just be careful of what you do from now on."

"But I am not feeling guilty because of Sirius. At least, that feeling is fading every day because of the way he keeps treating me – us! Even after Cane was kidnapped, he still spends all his time with James and Lily! Am I supposed to feel guilty because of him? No, I feel guilty because of Alain. He didn't deserve to be used like that. The worst thing is that I keep doing this – when Sirius disappoints me, I go to Alain, because he makes me feel better – loved and safe. He does not deserve such treatment, no more than Cane and I deserve Sirius' attitude."

_Have things already gotten so out of hand?_ Sylvie thought, appalled. "Are you sure you don't feel anything for him?" she asked. Angela blushed and averted her gaze. "Dear Morgaine."

"Yes," Angela agreed.

The fire in the fireplace lit up and Sirius' face appeared in the green flames. "Angela?" he cried. "Are you there?"

Angela stood up, because the back of sofa blocked her from view. "Yes, I am here, Sirius."

"Are you okay? How is Cane?"

"He's sleeping. We are both okay. Where are you?"

He hesitated and Angela knew what the answer would be. Sighing, she said, "Sylvie is here."

"Really?"

"Yes, she brought the baby, Anath, with her."

Sylvie also stood up and moved, so Sirius could see her. "Hello, Sirius."

"Sylvie," he said. "Well," he continued, "I suppose you have lots of things to tell each other. I won't bother you. See you tomorrow evening, Angela."

"I won't bother you!" she cried after his head had disappeared. "He doesn't give a damn about bothering or not bothering me; he just uses it as an excuse to stay with his precious endangered James and Lily. Damn you, Sirius Black!" she whispered angrily.

"And Alain uses every sort of excuse to stay longer with _you_, I suppose?" Sylvie asked. Angela nodded, this time without blushing.

_You are my, my wife,_ said Alain's voice in her head. _I love you, Angela. You are meant for me._ Her pulse quickened at the thought of their kiss, his eyes full of adoration, and the tenderness in his voice while telling her what she had already known. He loved her, she did not doubt that. Did she love him? And if she did, how would this affect their lives? Yes, their lives. Whatever decision she would make, Cane's feelings were as important as her own – more important to her than to his father. If it was not for Cane, Angela knew who she would have chosen without a hint of hesitation.

Suddenly, the fire lit up again. _Sirius._ She looked at him, alarmed, but he did not give her the time to say anything.

"I forgot to say I loved you."

The next moment, he was gone. Angela stood there, looking at the empty fireplace. _Do I really know who I would have chosen? Do I?_

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**The next day…**

"Anath, stay still," Angela said desperately. The baby girl had started crying the moment Sylvie had left her in Angela's arms, as if feeling that Mummy was not in the room anymore. "Please, Anath, please stay still!"

No reaction. Angela stood in the corridor of Dr. Marshall's clinic, waited for Sylvie to come out of the powder room and prayed to any deity she could think about that the baby would calm down.

"What's the matter with you?"

Angela looked around. A young doctor was looking straight at her, a kind smile on her lips. "She doesn't look like you at all," she said. "Is her daddy a red-head?

"She's not mine," Angela replied. "We're waiting for her Mummy to come out of the powder room – she was here to visit Dr. Marshall."

"I see," the blond woman said, looking at Angela's pale face and big eyes. "And what's the problem with you?"

"Me?" Angela shook her head. "Right now, I don't have any problems. Basically, it's that I cannot have children."

The doctor laughed out loud. "Talk nonsense to someone else – you're pregnant right now."

"What?!" Angela was so shocked that she almost dropped the baby and that led to the effect she had hoped to achieve – Anath was so surprised that she actually stopped crying. "That's impossible!"

"Why would you think so?"

"Because…because…because after giving birth to my son, I was told that I could never conceive again! It's been four years since then and there was no sign of a second pregnancy!"

The doctor gave her a long look. "Listen," she said, "come with me and let me examine you. If I am wrong, the examination will be free, if not, you're going to pay for it."

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**The next evening…**

He woke up to the sound of someone thumping on his door. He was so tired from the twenty-six hours that he had spent working on investigation files that the thought of checking on his visitor did not even cross his mind. When he opened the door, he noticed the final sunrays going down on the horizon, so it wasn't too late in the evening. "Who's there?" he asked, looking around.

There was no answer.

"Who is there?" he repeated, louder this time.

A dark form emerged from the staircase. "It's me – Angela."

"Mon Dieu, Angela, what are you doing here?"

"Can I come in?"

He moved aside to let her enter the flat. She went straight to the living room and started unbuttoning her coat.

"What are you doing here, Angela?" he asked again. "I thought it was Cane's birthday today – "

"It is," she said. Her voice was hoarse, as if she'd been crying. "He had his party. He's at the park now with my friend Sylvie – I asked her to take him there."

He nodded. "Wait for a minute," he said, heading for his bedroom. When he returned, he saw that she had taken her coat off and was now standing in the middle of the room in a tight red blouse and black jeans. Her hair was falling in heavy waves over her back; the scent of her perfume filled the room. Alain felt his head lightening. What was she playing at?

"Here," he said, placing a small wrapped box in her hand. "This is for Cane. For his birthday – I wanted – I thought that – "

He fell silent when he saw the tears that were filling her eyes. "What's going on, Angela? What's wrong?"

"He forgot," she said in a trembling voice. "You bought Cane a present, but his father forgot that it was his birthday today – all he thought about was James and Lily, James and Lily, James and Lily!" she suddenly shouted. "He didn't even come to the party!"

"Mon Dieu!" Alain whispered.

"Exactly," Angela agreed. "Our son was not important enough for him to remember that he had a birthday," she said hoarsely. "Merlin, he doesn't deserve Cane."

"He doesn't," Alain said. "He does not deserve any of you."

"Merlin, how I hate him right now! If he comes to me, I'm going to kill him for the disappointment he put Cane through!"

Alain said nothing. Angela took a deep breath, went to him, stood on tiptoe and kissed him, just as he knew that she would. He held her tight and felt her arms encircling him.

"Yes," she said hoarsely, "yes – " He covered her face with kisses, then her neck, her arms….

"I love you," he whispered. "I do. I've always believed that one day you'd come to me on your own."

"And so I did," she answered softly, returning his kisses. "I want this, I need – "

He took her blouse off and she started kicking her jeans off, pulling his head down to hers, and then suddenly stopped as if paralyzed.

"What's going on?" he asked worriedly, but she did not answer.

After a long minute, she pushed him aside, buttoned her jeans up and bent to collect her blouse. "It's not going to work," she said in a suddenly tired, flat voice. "Merlin, I wish it would, I really do. But it just won't. The bloody truth is that I still love Sirius. Merlin knows why, but I love him. I belong to him, no matter how much I wished I didn't."

She was not looking Alain in the eye and he did not force her to meet his gaze. "What are you going to do?" he asked.

Angela shrugged. "I have no idea," she said. "You know, I've been waiting for him the whole day. I wanted to tell him that I was pregnant."

He looked like she had just stabbed him. "You are?"

She nodded. "I can hardly believe it myself. I thought it would never happen again. We both wanted a second child so much and now I don't even get the chance to tell him – he's never home long enough for me to."

"But you are going to tell him sooner or later?"

Angela laughed bitterly. "I suppose I will. When my stomach starts growing, even Sirius Black will be unable to miss it."

Alain sighed. "I can't say that I'm happy with your decision," he said," but it's your choice."

"Oh yes, it is," Angela agreed. "My choice and my stupidity."

"I don't think you're stupid."

"I didn't think I was, either, but what would you call this, then?" She had composed herself by now. "I'll never leave him because I'm stupid enough to love him to madness. I am happy with the slightest signs of his affections, I rave and yell when I face the new proves of his uncaring. What is it, if not madness?"

"Love, I suppose," Alain said in a soft voice, and she nodded.

"I am sorry, Alain."

"Don't be. Now go!"

She left the flat and Alain smiled again – a smile that was sad and hopeful at the same time. _And yet, you came to me. You love him, you want him, but you still came to me. Love is a gradual thing, Angela. I believe it will be this way – for you and me. I know it. You will come again, and you'll stay – one day. I can wait. I am patient._

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**A. N. Read? Yes. Reviewed? Please!**


	4. Chapter 4

Till Life Do Us Part 4

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, Jo does._

**Thank you, MissAmyRose, SOR4, MadeAnge, and EmSyd for leaving me reviews.**

Chapter 4

**A few months later…**

The wizarding society in Paris was still celebrating the fall of Voldemort. Everyone was happy and immensely relieved that it was all over, that they had made it, that their children would grow up without fear. Almost every day there was some festivity – a party, someone's birthday, celebrated with unusual mirth, all kind of society functions. And since the Montresorre family was well-connected, they received invitations for almost all of them. At the beginning, they had tried to attend them, but then they had to realize that it did not help – they had suffered a great loss and all festivities in the world could not lessen the pain, so they stopped visiting them. All they could do was waiting for the time to heal them, but it was such a slow process…

"Good morning," Alain said wearily, when he entered the kitchen and saw his brother already making their coffee.

"Good morning," Michel answered mechanically. Just looking at him, Alain could say that his brother's night had been no better than his own. He had almost reached the point of dreading to fall asleep, because his dreams were full of everyone that he had loved and lost: his brothers, his late friends… and Angela. Silently, he cursed Black again. Not because of his betrayal of his friends – oh yes, Alain knew about that, he had his connections. No, the whole Secret Keeper business was out of his concern and James and Lily Potter had meant nothing to him. _If Black hadn't done it, Angela would still be alive!_ But she was dead. Dead and buried. And it was all Black's fault. If _she haven't chosen him…_ Yet, Alain knew that for Angela that had been the only choice possible.

"What are you going to do today?" he asked. Michel shrugged.

"Nothing special. Just having a walk, I think."

Alain sighed. His brother's apathy was something that he had become used to during the last few months and that he did not like one bit. Of course, the same thing could be said about his own unwillingness to do anything at all.

They sat and drank their coffee. No one said anything, but they did not need to – every conversation somehow ended with the dead or the living who reminded them of the dead. They were just glad to be together and nowadays they were barely seen apart from each other. It was normal – there had been five Montresorre brothers at the beginning of the war. Now, it was only Alain and Michel.

"Dad!" A small child with silver hair and big blue eyes came running into the kitchen and jumped on the free chair, immediately reaching for the biscuits.

Alain and Michel both laughed at this, then their smiles faded, when they thought that Madeleine would have taken their heads for feeding her son biscuits so early in the morning.

"Hello, Charles," Michel said. "What do you want to do today?"

The boy attacked his biscuit. "Aunt Isabelle said she'd take me home to play with Fleur," he explained.

The two brothers shared a look: that was one thing less to think of. When Charles was at their sister's place, he was always happy and content.

"You like playing with Fleur, don't you?" Michel asked.

"She isn't sad," Charles answered. "Everyone else is."

Michel and Alain exchanged another look. _Children notice more than we give them credit for_, they both thought. No matter how hard they were trying to pretend that everything was all right, the little ones could feel that it was not.

Isabelle arrived a few minutes earlier – as beautiful and cheerful as ever. Suddenly, Alain felt a surge of contempt and hatred towards her – her silver hair was shining ever so brightly, her blue eyes were dull of mirth, her make-up was carefully applied and she looked like she did not have a single care in the world. _Doesn't she care? Doesn't she care that our brothers are dead and our sister is at St. Lazarre's with an awful diagnosis_?

"Hi, guys," she said, smiling at them. "Charles, you ready?"

"Yes, Aunt," he answered eagerly. "I packed my things."

She raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. "Are you sure you've taken everything you need?"

"I am."

"Did you take your toothbrush?" she inquired and his face fell. "I thought so. Go on and put it in your luggage."

He unhappily went to his room. Isabelle watched him with a smile, but then looked at Alain, obviously feeling that he was looking at her with a bad feeling. "What's wrong with you?" she asked.

"Do you need to ask?"

Her lips pursed. "Alain, I am not the Seer here, you are. Will you tell me why you are looking at me like I've just killed someone?"

_Bad choice of words, little sister_. "No, you haven't killed anyone. You are, in fact, the happiest person alive, judging by your looks."

_Ah, so that was it_. The young woman was surprised that she had not guessed earlier. "I am not ashamed to admit that yes, I am happier and calmer now. You should be too, Alain, and the same goes for you, Michel. You can't keep living with the past. You have to go on."

"Easier said than done," Michel snapped. "Do you have any idea how I feel each time when Charles calls me 'dad'? I feel like an impostor, that's how I feel! Cristian should be the one to take care of his son – he and Madeleine."

There was nothing that Isabelle could say to that. Ever since Michel and Alain had returned from the battle, where their brothers Axel and Cristian – Michel's twin – had lost their lives, Charles had started calling Michel 'Dad' and no one had been able to make him understand that it was not his father. The situation had not been eased by the fact that due to the shock of becoming a widow Charles' mother, who had been expecting a second child, had had a premature birth of a stillborn and had died during it. That was how Michel – who had never had interest in starting a family – had found himself responsible for an excitable three years-old, whose intuition was developed far more than Michel would like.

Isabelle's face softened. "I know," she said quietly, sadly. "But that's how it's going to be from now on, Michel. Cris isn't coming back. Neither of them is. And the sooner you two get used to it, the better."

"Oh yes," Alain drawled sarcastically. "Well, forgive us for still caring about the fact that we lost three brothers when neither of them was older than twenty-two."

Isabelle's eyes turned fiery. "That's not what I mean and you know it!" she hissed.

Alain sat back in his chair. "Actually, I don't know," he said. "Let me ask you a question, Isabelle. How long did it take you to forget about Axel and Cristian? Because I haven't forgotten about them! I was there when they were slaughtered. When did you turn into such a traitor?"

Isabelle's hand flew in the air and Alain caught it just in time, before it could land on his face. "Don't you dare, little sister," he said softly, fiercely. "Don't you dare."

She struggled to release her hand, but Alain was stronger than her. For an awfully long moment, they kept staring at each other, their faces contorted by hatred.

Then, as if an Imperius Curse had been lifted, they moved at the same moment. Alain released her hand and Isabelle raised it to her face.

"I'm sorry, Isabelle," Alain said.

"No, I should be the one who is sorry."

They looked at each other helplessly and then his arms slowly encircled her. "What's going on with us, Isabelle?" he asked.

"I don't know..."

They stood like that for a few moments and then she stepped aside. "Elise has a premiere tonight," she said. "You two coming?"

Like everyone who had Veela blood in their veins, their youngest sister was an excellent dancer. Her love for dancing was so strong that years ago, she had decided that it would be her profession. Only two years after graduating from Beauxbatons, she was already a preferred ballerina for almost every role she wanted. Her talent was without rivals in her ensemble.

Alain and Michel looked at each other. Why not? They had no desire for entertainment, but then, they had nothing to do either. And they would make their baby sister happy.

"See you there."

Isabelle smiled. "Good. Now, I'm going to check whether Charles has managed to 'lose' his toothbrush again."

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_In the evening..._

"You want to go to bed?" The eyelashes of the young woman flitted innocently.

The young, dark man laughed so softly that she was the only one who heard him. He was still holding her in his arms under the shower of flowers that was hailing on them.

"Whoever gave you that idea?"

She pretended to think very hard. "Let me see... Wasn't it you, earlier today?"

Of course it had been him – when they became groggy with rehearsals, he always repeated that once the premiere was over, he would crash into bed and sleep for at least two days.

"Your memory is too good for my liking," he muttered, while they were both bowing deeply to the audience. They were breathing heavily and they were all in a sweat. Fortunately, the distance from the stage made it impossible for the audience to see that.

Elise Montresorre smiled widely and bowed again, while Nicolas Lacee was taking one of the roses that had been thrown on the stage, presenting her with it and kissing her hand gently.

"Go to the devil, Lacee," she whispered, smiling sweetly to the shouts of 'Bravo!'

"Right now, I have no time to go to him," he objected. "We have a celebratory dinner tonight and tomorrow we have a new performance," he reminded her and turned to the audience for the next bow.

Elise and Nicolas took eight curtain calls, but that was not the end of it – their maker-ups were full of people. With disappointment, Elise noticed that the person who she wanted most to come and see her was not there. Anyway, she was happy to see that her brothers were so happy and proud of her, almost as they had looked before all those events that would torment their family forever. The success of the ballet had turned her blue eyes almost grey and shining and her cheeks were burning. And yet, it would have been even better if he had come.

Hearing the sudden knock of the door after everyone had left, she looked up hopefully, but it wasn't him. She was not disappointed, though, at the sight of the young woman who entered the room.

"Tamara!"

Her old friend smiled at her. "You were magnificent this evening, Elise," she said. "I am telling you that you were, and you know that I know what is what in dancing."

Elise hugged her, still intoxicated with her success. For a moment, their faces appeared into the mirror next to one another – two faces with the same creamy, flawless complexion, with the same delicate features, surrounded by waves of silver hair. There was a certain resemblance between those who carried Veela blood and Elise and Tamara made no exception: everyone could take them for sisters.

"Thanks for inviting me," Tamara said, her light green eyes shining. "That was something that I won't forget... although I am sure you've heard it by everyone who came here this evening."

"Oh, I could never hear it too often," laughed Elise, while she was removing her make-up. "Merlin, I want champagne. Rivers of champagne. I think I could swim in champagne this night."

"We'll see what we can do," Tamara promised. "Do you often swear in Merlin in front of Muggles?" she asked.

Elise gave her a sharp look and the cleaner, who was already started removing the boxes of flowers and presents, looked at them curiously. Tamara only smiled at him. "Mugs," she said. 'We were talking about mugs and make-up."

The man blinked. He was looking at her as if she had hypnotized him. "I understand," he said and left the room, stopping from time to time to throw a fascinated look at Tamara.

"That was not fair, Tamara," Elise scolded her, when they were alone, although her face was amused.

The other woman just shrugged. "Well, I admit that it was not very nice of me," she said. "I never said that I was an angel, though. And the world is no heaven. It really isn't my fault that I am a beautiful woman, after all."

Elise shook her head. "You are asking for trouble," she said. "I don't know how and when, but I feel that you're doing just that."

Tamara laughed. She could not help being flirtatious – after all, she was almost a full-blooded Veela, unlike Elise, who had only half-Veela genes. Really, what trouble could a little innocent flirting cause?

"If you were asking for such trouble, you wouldn't have worried about getting the man," she said.

Elise looked at her with a make-up pad in her hand. "What do you mean?" she asked suspiciously.

"I mean that man, Remus or whatever his name was. I know you fancy him. I saw you looking at him during the whole performance." Tamara suddenly smiled in a conspiratorial manner. "Mind you, I can see your point. He is really sweet, although he isn't my type."

"Thank Bendida for that," Elise muttered. "Who told you about Remus?" she demanded.

"I have my ways of knowing about this and that. You are not my only friend... fortunately," Tamara added. "You wouldn't have told me, Elise, admit it."

"I want to know who..." Elise started, while she was changing from her stage costume into a long green dress.

'I won't tell you," Tamara interrupted her. "So, let's talk about something else – about..."

But what Tamara wanted to talk about remained unknown, because there was a knock on the door and when Elise said 'come in', Nicolas entered the room. "Are you ready?" he asked.

"Yes, just a moment."

Nicolas looked at Tamara with great interest. "And who is this beautiful lady?" he asked.

"This is Tamara Petrova," Elise explained and started combing her hair. "One of my oldest friends."

"Don't tell me – you've brought her for me, haven't you?" His face was excited. "To give me a present for being such a brilliant partner."

Elise rolled her eyes. "Only in your dreams, Lacee. She has more taste than that."

Tamara looked at the lean dancer, who gently kissed her hand. "You were excellent this evening."

"Come on, don't stop talking!"

Tamara smiled. "You look just as happy as Elise."

He nodded. He was still smiling, but it was not a flirtatious smile anymore – it was full of the same exultation that filled Elise's heart.

"I am ready," Elise announced, and Nicolas led them outside, where there was a car waiting for them.

"Oh, Nick," Elise continued talking, "if I could keep forever just one moment, for all times, with everything that I feel, it would be this one. The premiere."

"That's what I would choose, too."

That was one of those moments, when Elise felt closest to the Muggles – when she and her Muggle dance partner shared something that was just as special as her connection with wizards in those moments that really mattered. They had done it together – they had rehearsed, they had suffered from stiff muscles and complete exhaustion, they had had furious quarrels about the way some part should be played, they had hated each other and supported each other and they had made it. That was their evening. Their triumph.

"You'll do it again tomorrow evening," Tamara said, "and it will be just as good. But it won't be the same."

Nicolas looked surprised. "Not only beautiful, but smart," he said and led them through the big glass door into the foyer of the hotel. Here, Tamara discreetly fell behind to let the pair have their glorious moment.

The banquet hall was shining brightly and was already full of people. The moment when Nicolas and Elise entered, the cameras started working. They were met by storms of applause.

"_Ma cherie_!" Pauline Angers, the head of the dance group, hurried to them. While she was hugging them and praising their dancing this evening, Elise could see only one thing: he had come. He had not visited her in her maker-up, but he was here now. As soon as Pauline let her go and Nick led her to the big table, where there were at least twenty seats, she sat on the chair next to his and smiled at him. It was amusing to look at him trying to decide whether he should be friendly or politely ignore her, from fear that she would get the impression that he liked her... Well, that would be the right impression anyway! When the next camera flashed next to her, she took his hand and smiled widely at the photographer, who did not miss the chance to have a shot which would show that the Ice Queen Elise Montresorre was human, after all, and capable of simple human feelings, like fancying young men... _Just wait, Remus Lupin! One day, I'll marry you!_

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**An hour later…**

A big glazed door was leading to the terrace that surrounded the banquet hall. Tamara opened it and stepped outside. She leaned on the balcony railings and looked outside. The night was clear, the moon and the stars were turning Paris silver. She looked at it with unseeing eyes.

_How can everything be so normal_, she wondered. _Laugh, and champagne, and ballet. How can the world still look the same?_ Of course, almost everyone in the hall was a Muggle, so maybe that could explain it. She still couldn't believe that the world was now Voldemort-free. It would take a great deal of effort to get accustomed to these new circumstances.

_After all those years_, Tamara thought. She covered her eyes with her palm, hearing her own screams in the night when the Death Eaters had attacked their house. Her beautiful Veela mother, her half-Veela father, a few loyal house-elves – all dead. She herself had been barely saved by the Healers. _After all those years he's gone and we are here – wizards, witches, Muggles, Veelas, - enjoying such a simple thing as a ballet performance._ It seemed so surreal. _How on earth are we going to get used to freedom? _

A hand touched her shoulder and she turned, startled her and she turned sharply, only to find herself face to face with Alain. He was looking at her with calm eyes, full of understanding. She took his hand and held it without saying anything. He was silent, too. They had known each other since their childhood, they had played together, they had teased each other and they had lost their virginity to one another, when they had been sixteen. Tamara knew that he understood her – he obviously had trouble adapting to normal, Voldemort-free life, too. They did not need to talk.

"Do you think it will ever be normal?" Tamara finally asked.

"It has to."

"But are you sure? Aren't we going to stay forever the way we are now – strange, deformed, not the way we should be?"

He drew her closer to him and Tamara stood on tiptoe to press her cheek against his. "No," he said, "we won't."

But he did not sound as he himself was convinced and Tamara felt it. "Just look at us," she said. "Veelas aren't supposed to feel this way. We should be charming and careless, and happy, and – "

He laughed. "Have you ever thought of writing a manual of being a Veela?" he asked very seriously.

"That's a good idea," she answered with equal seriousness.

"Come on, let's go back inside," he said. "Magda will kill me, if I let you catch a cold."

"Magda will kill _me_," she corrected him, only half-jokingly. The truth was that they were both a little afraid of the Veela who knew everything about herbs and healing.

They had barely made a step, when Tamara barely contained a shriek – two big hands suddenly landed on her neck from behind. Before she could react, a wet kiss, reeling of alcohol, was planted on her cheek.

"What, Veela? Not pleased, are you? There was a time when you loved my kisses." Another kiss moistened her ear.

"Take your hands back!" Alain's voice was flat and severe. He went behind the newcomer.

Tamara stood like paralyzed. The way the drunken man was holding her, he could break her neck any moment, without even realizing what he was doing. He was desperately grasping the smooth skin of her neck, trying to thrust his hands under her dress.

"So beautiful. Remember when I told you that? I always told you I've never seen such beauty. Is he your newest lover, bitch?" he suddenly shouted.

Alain was trying to pull him aside without risking Tamara's neck breaking. She was trying to repel the drunkard's face, but without success. He kissed her eyes. His wet mouth, reeking of alcohol, reached hers. She hit him as strongly as she could, but that did not disturb him. Suddenly, he pushed her aside and jumped back faster than could be expected by a man in such state. The moonlight fell on the wand that had appeared in his hand.

Alain made a quick step forward, reached for him and the wand fell on the floor. Alain took it, looked aside to make sure that there was no one nearby, and pointed the wand at its owner. "_Imperio_!" he said, then went to him and tucked the wand back in his pocket. "Come on," he told Tamara. 'He won't even look at you at least until tomorrow. Let's go back inside."

She shook her head, wiping her mouth. During the fight, her hair-slide had fallen and her hair was falling in wild disarray. She smoothed it over. "I am really not in the mood," she said. "Go on. I think I'll go to my hotel."

"Where are you staying at?" he asked.

"Sheraton."

_Of course. Only the best is good enough for our Tamara_, Alain thought. "I'll see you to your Sheraton."

'There is no need. I can hail a cab."

"Good. I haven't traveled the Muggle way for ages."

Tamara rolled her eyes, but she was secretly glad that she would not have to go alone.

They left the hotel, but instead of hailing a cab, they made a long walk through night-time Paris. By some unspoken agreement, they spoke of nice things only, not mentioning about the war or the losses at all. It was not until they had stopped on the St-Michel bridge and Alain was looking at the waves under their feet, when he said without looking at her, "My brother Axel always loved rivers and the sea."

She glanced at him with astute eyes. "And you do not."

"I don't trust them. Oh yes, they seem a pleasant sight in the summer, but they wear a different face, and a face that I don't like during December."

She nodded. "Yes," she said, "there is no sight so sad as rivers and sea in winter, because what they tell us is that we are truly at the ending of the year, and all its days are over and the things that they carried would never come again." She turned to look at him and smiled. "But that's the way seasons turn, and they must turn, because that's how nature has planned it. Or Bendida, if you prefer. The fields must fall to fallow and the birds must stop singing for a while, and all things growing must die and lie in peace under snow, just as winter rivers and seas must wear their face of grey and death – the face that you so hate. That's how it should be. 'This is the way of things', my grandmother always used to say, 'and when you have grow older, girl, as I have, you may even come to welcome it.'"

Alain smiled, remembering the woman that Tamara was referring to. Such words seemed strange for one of the fiercest Veelas that he had ever known. "To welcome winter?"

"Yes." Tamara was still looking at the water and her voice seemed to bring comfort not only to him, but to her own troubled mind. "Because, if there was no winter, we could never hope for spring. That's why you and I could never spend our life in the Veela mountains – because there are no seasons and no desperation, but there is no hope either." Her eyes had darkened to almost-black. "The spring will come. The growing things will heal." She paused. "And so will we."

"We must."

They continued their walk.

No one of them was sure how they ended in Alain's flat – they had not planned it. It was dark, obviously Michel had not come back yet. Alain lit the lamps – he had chosen to live at a Muggle block for a reason; he had never seen a reason not to use the nice inventions of the Muggles. Ever since his Muggleborn classmate Francis had invited him to his home… but no, he would not think of that now. _I won't, I won't!_ Francis was dead. Killed by the monster that called itself Lord Voldemort. And Alain wouldn't think of him right now.

"Coffee?" he asked and when Tamara nodded, he went to the kitchen to prepare it, leaving her to look around with curiosity that she did not even try to hide. When he came back, she was looking at a picture of Elise as Giselle.

"She's magnificent," she said.

"Who was he? The man who attacked you earlier?"

Tamara shrugged a shoulder, trying to look like she didn't care. "An old acquaintance."

"He is in love with you."

She shrugged again, defensively. "I am sorry. I warned him not to fall in love with me. I never promised him anything."

"But you had an affair?"

Tamara looked suddenly angry. "That is no concern of yours."

Alain took a sip of his coffee, trying to form his thought into words. He had some bad feeling about this, but he could not explain that to her – she would not understand. Tamara lived like a typical Veela – falling in love and out of love as easily as she breathed… And, of course, she had never been in love, not truly, so she could not understand how far such a feeling could push someone. "You're asking for trouble," he said.

Her eyes turned into green ice. "Do you and your sister learn from one another?" she asked angrily.

Looking at her, Alain was suddenly reminded of an old poem… He said the verse aloud,

"**In this tower black lived Tamara, **

**A lovely and evil Queen.**

**With angelic beauty endowed,**

**With soul demonic and mean."**

Tamara looked at him, taken aback. She knew the Muggle poem, of course she knew it, but to hear this verse right now… And then she burst out laughing. "Oh Alain, you'll never stop surprising me!"

He was laughing, too. "What do you want me to do, Majesty?" he asked, bowing formally.

She pretended to think very seriously. "Bring me champagne, oh abject subject of mine."

He obeyed and they drank for Elise's success. "She'll be very successful. And happy. We'll all be."

Alain nodded and smiled. _It was worth it_, he thought. _It was worth fighting and giving the fight everything we had._

But then he looked at the bookcase and saw the pictures that always stood there – photos of relatives and friends. His eyes were attracted by the faces of his killed brothers Axel and Cristian and then he couldn't help it: he took a quick breath and whispered, "If this is finally over, it was you guys who did it. Merlin, what a price!"

Tamara followed his look and realized what he must be thinking about. Her eyes fell on the photo that showed Cristian Montresorre with his girlfriend, Madeleine, and she felt sorry for the loss of the young man whom she had known.

The dark hair of the girl, however, kept her attention. Next to Cristian's blond head, it seemed shockingly vital, almost as a living thing, while Madeleine was tossing her head back in the picture. It reminded Tamara something that she had heard only a few days ago. "Were you in love with her, Alain?" she suddenly asked.

He looked at her incredulously. "With Madeleine? Don't be ridiculous."

"No, not Madeleine. The other one. The married English woman. Angela."

He looked away from the photos. "Isabelle talks too much," he said, irritated.

"Isabelle worries about you," Tamara corrected him. "Both of you – you yourself and Michel. And judging by the way you looked tonight, I dare say that your sister is right in that."

"And what should that mean?" he challenged.

She made a tired gesture. "All right, let's not argue. I just wanted to know… Were you in love with her?"

"Yes."

"And what about her?"

He smiled bitterly. "She died the way she lived – as Sirius Black's wife."

"You mean she felt nothing for you?!" The disbelief in Tamara's voice was clear. "Was she mad or something?"

Alain smiled again – a smile of genuine amusement. "You have very good effect on my pride."

Tamara grinned. "No, I just have sharp eyes. Really, if you were in the second place in her list…" She looked at him with a good deal of female appreciation, "then her husband must have been really deiform…"

"He is a bastard and a traitor," Alain said shortly, "he's going to lose his life in prison and I can't say he doesn't deserve it. He is the one to blame for her death and the situation in which his children are now."

Tamara looked at him, confused. "It was not a happy love, their story," Alain continued. "And yet, I admired the strength of her feeling. A great love that, despite everything he put her through, refused to die."

Tamara slowly nodded. "Yes, I've heard some things," she said. "Gideon and Fabian Prewett," she said, answering to his unspoken question. "They helped me once… when the Death Eaters had decided to lessen the number of Veelas in the world."

He heard the part that she had not spoken. "Did you know Gideon Prewett well?"

"I wanted to. If he were alive… I would have gone to England with him."

Again, they fell silent. Their eyes were drawn for a second time this evening to the photos on the shelf; to the photos of the dead. Despite all their efforts to keep the conversation easy, they always returned to the war and everything that would have been. That should have been.

And then, suddenly, Tamara found herself locked in his embrace. His lips found hers. She felt the desperate plea, the words that Alain wouldn't or couldn't say.

_Tamara, help me forget._

Their kiss was so familiar and yet unknown, the taste of champagne, the unostentatious touch, then the flame that started burning… It was as if since their last kiss had passed only a few hours.

_Or remember._

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

The next morning, Tamara and Alain woke up together in the mess of tangled sheets and coverings. It was almost nine. The clock next to the lamp with blue shade had already rang, but it had not been able to overpower their sleepiness due both to the almost sleepless night and the amount of champagne that they had consumed. Alain turned to Tamara, who was still reluctant to open her eyes, and kissed her. She opened a green eye and then closed it again. Alain whispered, "And then he kissed her and indeed, the Princess opened her eyes and said…"

"How dare you wake me without bringing me as a morning gift a hot coffee?"

"Please excuse me," Alain answered officiously, "your coffee will be brought to you in a minute."

He knew what she would do, of course – they had known each other long enough for him to know what she thought of the coffee he made. As his father always said, "you must try to kill horses with this thing, Alain. It'll certainly work."

He was not disappointed – her eyes snapped open and she bolted out of bed, before she could realize that he had not moved at all. "You liar," she said, pulled her dress over her head and headed for the kitchen – who knew, he might decide to fulfill his threat and really make coffee! She did not want to be poisoned.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

**Eighteen months later…**

"What are you going to name him?"

In the first moment, Alain's mind did not register that Magda was talking to him. His eyes did not leave the pale form on the bed, the white-blond hair, the face that was completely bloodless, the nasty long cut of dagger strike, from where the life had left the young body. They had barely managed to pull the baby out, before it could suffocate in his dead mother's womb.

He had never believed in the whole 'till death do us part' nonsense. He had thought that it would be life which would separate them, when they lost interest in one another. That was how Veelas took their relationships; that was what Alain himself had told her – "I will give you your freedom to seek for your happiness elsewhere, when love leaves my heart" and yet, he had not been ready to give up on her yet. Now, looking at her, he realized for a first time what "till death do us part" really meant. Truly, death had parted him from Angela, too, but for the whole love that had felt for her, she had never been truly his. With Tamara, it had been different – for him, and for her too. They had been in love – a mutual feeling without any doubts and hesitations, they had planned a future together and now all that was left of it was a tiny white bundle that was looking at Alain with unblinking green eyes. _Her eyes_, Alain thought.

It had happened only two days ago. The man – the same man who had attacked her in the night of Elise's performance – had entered the house, overcoming the protections without any difficulties. And then he had killed her – Alain's mother, Vivienne, had seen him running outside, where he could Apparate away, but she had done nothing to stop him – she had been too busy trying to stop Tamara from bleeding to death.

Well, she had not bled to death. But she was dead. All efforts that the Healers and Magda put in restoring her health had gone in vain. Her whole strength had gone to the child, who, in the last month of her pregnancy, was too big and draining her too much. No amount of magic could replace the strength that was needed of her body to fight the torn lung.

"Give him to me."

Alain barely heard what Elise was saying and almost missed the fact that the baby in his arms was crying. _Poor Tamara_, he thought. Poor, stupid, dear Tamara, who had refused to accept the wards that he had set for their security. _The war is over_, she had always said. True, she had accepted that the not-so-shiny work that he had done for the French Ministry of Magic required some security measures, but she had never paid too much attention to it and had not bothered to keep the wards, when he wasn't home.

And that was the result of her carelessness. She was dead. Forever gone.

"Alain, give him to me," Elise repeated and he placed the baby in her arms. She started rocking it back and forth.

"What name do you intend to give him?" his father asked again.

"Lucien…"

It was only fitting to give his son the name of the brother who he had loved. Who he had killed, to save him from his agony.

_She never knew how far she could push_ people, Alain thought again. True, she had been well acquainted with the power that beauty exercised in this world and she had enjoyed the privileges of her own stunning looks, the way men had fallen for her, but she had never really understood how deeply her love – and later its lack – could affect them. She had always assumed that they would forget her as easily as she forgot them.

_What a cruel way to know that she has been wrong._

Again, the Muggle poem came to his mind and this time the meaning that he read in it was an entirely different one.

'**So tenderly this voice was parting.**

**Such kindness and such love it held. **

**As if it did not promise doom, no,**

**But caress and passion instead."**

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

**Five**** years later…**

The splashing in the bathroom stopped and Margo Saint Claire entered the room, wrapped in an enormous towel, her hair dripping. He looked at her and then his eyes moved to the Algerian desert that was spread in front of their window. _It seems so strange_, he thought, _that in the night we carry out assassinations for the French Ministry of Magic and in the morning, we look like every other couple._ It had been merely hours since they had arranged an 'accident' for a known Dark Wizard who had succeeded to escape the legal justice, and now they were having breakfast, before Margo returned to her historical research of some branches of Eastern magic. As it happened from time to time, the memories came back to him – Lucien's face, contorted in agony, before he fell down, killed by Alain's own wand, Angela and the desperation in her eyes when she thought about her quickly ruining relationship with Sirius Black, Angela kissing him, the wedding of Margo and their classmate Francis, the attack right after the ceremony and Margo's wedding gown, bespattered with the blood of the dead people, surrounding her, Axel, falling under the Killing curse and the hopeless expression that appeared on Michel's face each time when he looked in the mirror and saw Cristian's face – in fact, his own face – staring at him. He saw Angela dead and Tamara trying to repel her drunk attacker. Then Tamara, lying dead on her bed, while their baby was crying in need of her breast that was no longer an option.

"Alain? What's wrong?"

He chased the memories away and smiled at Margo. "Nothing. Are you ready to face your day?"

She gave him a sly look. "Maybe if you recharge me…"

"I'll think about that," he promised. He still wasn't sure what type of relationship they had, but there was one thing that he knew for certain: that relationship would end when they decide to separate. Not before. No more ' till death do us part'-s. This time, it would be 'till _life_ do us part'. He would make it sure.

"Orange or lemon juice?" he asked.

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**A. N. If you think the ****verses are mine, you are sadly mistaken. That is just my poor attempt to translate a part of one of the most fascinating Russian poems – Tamara, by Lermontov. I'm sure that there are much better translations in Internet, so I recommend the poem to everybody. By the way, Queen Tamara was real! She was a Queen of Georgia, and a great one at that. Don't ask me what made Lermontov turn her into a vampire. I have no idea.**

**P.P. If there is a Russian among you, my dear readers, maybe he's going to tell me?**

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